


Is That Everything?

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Teenlock, cafe shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Will that be everything?” He slipped the whipped cream canister into one of the pockets of his apron, and went to pour the coffee.  </p><p>“I… Oatmeal square?” The teen buried one of his hands into his rich black curls. John was tickled to see that those impossible cheekbones were tinting pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is That Everything?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here, in response to a picture.  
> http://tiger-in-the-flightdeck.tumblr.com/post/51755949255/brolininthetardis-this-is-a-coffeeshop-au

It was three hours into his shift before John realised there was something going on.

He was used to being smiled at, even flirted with. It was usually across the board, though. Middle-aged women in yoga gear would eye him up and down while he blended their drinks. Giggling coeds would lean over the counter to watch as he muddled limes into their iced teas.

Today though, it was all men. And they were _forward._ It didn’t bother him in the least, it was just a sudden change. By noon, he had a pocketful of numbers.

“Black, two sugars.”

A deep voice rumbled across the marble.

Smiling, John glanced up from where he was shaking a canister of whipped cream. “Just a second, mate. Is that everything?” Licking his thumb clean, he made a decorative swirl on top of a cup of chai tea with ginger.

“A biscuit.”

The voice pitched a bit deeper.

John was half absorbed in the music that was pumping out of the small speakers in the corner behind him. Swaying from side to side, he looked his new customer over. The kid looked like he needed the biscuit. He was definitely skinny. And tall. Very tall. And dark. Handsome. With full, pouting lips, and vivid grey eyes, and Christ on a cracker John could make chocolate shavings with those cheekbones. Nipping the corner of his lip, he handed the tea off to the granny that had ordered it. “One coffee and a biscuit. Anything else?”

“Um. A scone.” The teen cleared his throat, and tapped at the glass, pointing to a blueberry muffin.

“That’s not a scone, mate.” John chuckled, and pulled out the tray of the baked goods. He hovered his hand over each of the scones, grabbing one when he saw the customer lick his lips. It was lemon and cranberry, baked by John that morning. “Will that be everything?” He slipped the whipped cream canister into one of the pockets of his apron, and went to pour the coffee.  

“I… Oatmeal square?” The teen buried one of his hands into his rich black curls. John was tickled to see that those impossible cheekbones were tinting pink.

“Oh, those are just brilliant.” John took one out, and set it on a paper plate. “I make them with honey, instead of molasses.” Crinkling his nose, he rang up the bill. “Is that it?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

The young man cleared his throat, and broke off a corner of the square, popping it into his mouth. Slowly, he licked the honey off of his fingertips. “Dinner?”

John straightened too quickly. The canister in his pocket caught on the edge of the marble, depressing the nozzle. Thick cream splattered over the hem of his shirt, and his thighs. One lingering drop clung to the tip before it fell to drip onto his shoes.

“Is that a yes?”

Twenty minutes later, John Watson waved off Sherlock Holmes, and leaned on the door of the coffee shop for a long while watching him. Folding the slip of paper that held the address for their date that night, he tucked it into his pocket and turned to head back to his post. He caught sight of the small chalkboard that normally had their daily specials, leaning up against the display. One with very familiar handwriting.

“God dammit, Mike!”


End file.
